Tales Of Self-Destruction
by PaperMoonsandWolfstar
Summary: Loosely linked, this collection of one-shots portray the damage and stress Remus and Sirius put their bodies through daily, and how one always comes to rescue the other. Remus/Sirius. Rated M for adult themes, language, self-harm and eating disorder content. Trigger warning - don't read if you're easily triggered.EDITED, CHAPTERS IN DIFFERENT ORDER, PLEASE RE-READ BEFORE CONTINUING
1. Shock Of The Smoke

**Third Year **

Remus admired Sirius Black.

The ease and grace in his movements, the shamelessness in which he flirted, the effortless way he struck up conversation with whomever he pleased.

But most of all, Remus admired the way Sirius would blow perfect little smoke plumes up into the sky.

Remus had never told anyone of this, but he had the feeling that Sirius just knew.

Remus' suspicions were confirmed that night.

Sirius, James, Peter and Remus were all sat outside, James swigging Butterbeer from the kitchens and Sirius chain-smoking.

He was sat in between James and Remus, leant against Remus' chest, and popped a cigarette easily from the packet, making eye contact with Remus, his mouth pulled up into a smirk.

"Want one, Moony?" he asked casually.

James snorted in derision, whilst Peter raised an eyebrow.

Remus was the most responsible out of the four of them; there was no way in their minds that the golden boy would ever be stupid enough to smoke a cigarette.

Sirius knew him a little better though.

Sirius had an inkling that Remus had something buried inside of him, something that made him adopt bad habits such as cigarettes, so his half-smirking expression was not deterred by James' oblivious snorts.

Remus shot Sirius a grin, delicately extracting the protruding stick and placing it between his cracked lips, accepting the flame that Sirius had just easily sparked.

James spat Butterbeer for about half a mile, he was so surprised, whilst Peter's jaw fell open.

"_What the fuck Remus_?" James coughed, wiping the liquid from his chin.

Remus didn't reply. He could sense Sirius' eyes on him, so kept all his energy on refusing to let his lungs cough out the poisonous smoke they had just inhaled.

Everything was about control with Remus, and the careful exhale a few seconds later was no exception.

Sirius leant back, slowly clapping his hands in a sarcastic display of congratulations. Remus would have laughed, but he knew any vibration through his throat would send him into a coughing spasm, so instead he took another puff.

"Sirius!" James yelled, turning on the taller boy.

"What?" Sirius asked casually.

"What?! You know bloody well what!"

"Actually I don't. Feel free to enlighten me, however." Sirius said, grinning cheekily at James.

"You just gave Moony a cig!" James exclaimed.

"Your point?" Sirius asked.

"You made Moony smoke!"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, making Remus grin around the stick.

"I did no such thing. He took the cigarette." Sirius answered, looking offended.

James slapped Sirius around the back of the head, ignoring the protesting grumbles as a result of this.

"Unbelievable. _Unbelievable._" James shook his head, taking a long drink from his bottle to calm himself down.

Sirius chuckled, lighting his own cigarette and joining Remus.


	2. The Impending Future

**Third Year **

"Start a band with me, Moony."

"What?"

Sirius leant back, elegantly exhaling smoke in a perfect ring and studying Remus from under his lashes.

"A band, Moons. Let's start the shittiest band in history. I'll be the god-awful lead singer who can't hit a note to save his life, and you can be the guitarist who doesn't even know the meaning of a chord so he just pulls the pick up and down the strings. We can stay at the bottom of Hogsmeade on the streets and see how little money we make." He explained.

Remus chuckled, taking out another cigarette and lighting it.

Sirius and him were both sat on the windowsill of the dormitory rooms with the window open, smoking. Remus was knelt on the ledge, leaning halfway out so the teachers couldn't smell the lingering stench of tobacco, whilst Sirius didn't really seem to care either way and was blatantly exhaling into the room.

Remus sighed, dropping down as he realised his efforts to prevent the smoky smell from infiltrating the dorm was futile, and settled next to Sirius, who promptly lay his head against Remus' shoulder.

"I'm so done." Remus muttered.

"Don't say that, Moons, I need ultimate commitment from my partner in shittiness. We'll make it so big."

Remus shook his head, flicking ash out of the window.

"I'm going nowhere, Padfoot. I have no fucking clue about the future."

"Who the fuck needs plans?" Sirius snorted. "Where's the fun in that? Live fast, die young, that's my motto. I have no idea where I'm gonna end up, but as long as there's drugs, booze, and girls, I'm fine with that."

Remus chuckled.

"I might just become a heroin addict. Go live under a bridge in Jamaica."

"That's the spirit!" Sirius chirped.

Remus sighed again.

"Now what's wrong?" Sirius asked, his grey eyes gazing into Remus' worried brown ones.

"It's just…I don't know. I'm not as confident as you, Padfoot. I gotta have a plan, or else everything seems to fall apart. I'm scared, to change my mind, to choose wrong, I mean, half of the stuff I chose in the options was based on a career decision I made whilst I was a naive, stupid idiot!" Remus vented, frowning slightly and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

Sirius snorted with laughter.

"Remus _Muriel _Lupin, if you're stupid idiot, then that makes me…an uneducated pignut!" Sirius exclaimed dramatically.

Remus exploded into peals of laughter, making Sirius grin as he took a proud drag of his cigarette.

"Okay, first of all, Muriel?! My middle name is John, which you've known since first year," Remus chuckled, "And secondly, _pignut_? _What?_"

"Hey, at the very least...it was inventive. Eh? _Eh?_" Sirius laughed, elbowing Remus in the ribs.

"Okay, ow, _ow,_ dammit Sirius, you have some seriously bony elbows." complained Remus, rubbing the tender stop on his chest gingerly


	3. The Thing About Scars

**Third Year **

It was three in the morning, and Sirius was hyperactive.

The icy December night was merciless on Sirius' undernourished body, the freezing bite of the cold settling in his bones and stubbornly refusing to shift.

He'd given up any attempt of trying to preserve body heat and was simply staring at the top of his bed at five in the morning, dressed in only a loose red shirt and boxers, occasionally burping up gas from the seven energy drinks he'd downed.

He could only sleep in the common room, whilst the fire was on, and lately, as it got closer to Christmas, people had been staying up later and later. By the time it was vacated, Sirius was generally already on his third energy drink and had lost all desire to sleep.

It had gotten to the point where he'd put a can down on his bedside table, and it literally took him a full five minutes to find it again because it was lost in a swarm of clunking, empty cans. He hadn't slept in three entire nights, and was beginning to get a little bit crazy.

He was just about to get up and resume his perpetual routine of obsessively pacing the dormitory when he heard a small stir.

Frowning, he lay completely still, evening out his breathing and adding a small snort. He heard bedsheets rustle, and a cracking noise from two frail kneecaps as the person swung their legs out of bed.

It was Remus, Sirius knew now, because only his knees managed to make that sickening noise every time he got up.

None of the other three boys in the room knew about Sirius' trouble sleeping during winter months. He'd known them now for two years, and he knew pretty much everything about them, from Peter's night terrors to exactly what time James' morning wood went down, to Remus Lupin's furry little problem that they had only recently figured out. And the other boys thought they knew everything about him, too.

In actuality, they didn't know shit.

They had no idea he cut, or that he had both bulimia and anorexia. They didn't twig onto his depression, not even his panic attacks. The closest they'd ever really gotten was knowing that he liked to drink a little too much.

Ridiculously, really. He was only 13 years old. And yet he was so incredibly fucked up. They didn't even know about his parents.

The truth was, Sirius had been forced to mature much earlier than most of his peers, and that had therefore stunted his emotional development. He still had the mentality of a six year old, but had the thought processes and issues of a twenty-three year old.

Remus had gotten up by now and was hovering near Sirius' bed, ensuring that the taller boy was asleep.

Seemingly satisfied by Sirius' pretence, Remus crept into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Sirius heard plastic crack, and he got out of bed, shivering.

He lay in front of the bathroom door, peeking under the crack there, and wasn't surprised in the slightest to see the other boy carefully scratching himself with the small blade he had.

He knew that he couldn't go into that bathroom and stop Remus, because Remus needed to tell him first. But he needed to stop him somehow - he couldn't watch this.

So Sirius thought, his agile mind whirring, and searched for a solution.

He was staring at the purple groves in his thighs when the idea slapped him in the face.

_Two birds, one stone. _

Sirius crept back to his bed, making no noise whatsoever, and lay on his bed.

He then began to loudly rustle around in his bed, and groaned.

He waited for a minute, and then made a big show of his feet hitting the floor.

He heard hurried shuffling in the bathroom, and smiled.

Sirius practically stomped over the door, but kept his pace reasonably slow.

By now, the noise had stopped in the bathroom.

Sirius hammered his fist on the door.

"Remus! You in there?" Sirius all but yelled.

"Uh, yes! Just brushing my teeth!" came the stressed-sounding response.

"I'm coming in, I gotta piss!" Sirius called, and swung open the handle.

All traces of Remus' earlier activities were gone, and he was indeed facing the sink, slowly brushing his teeth. But Sirius spotted a piece of plastic near to the toilet as he wandered over. Ignoring it, he walked past Remus to get to the toilet, and felt eyes turn on him.

Out of his peripheral vision, Sirius saw honey glaze eyes widen in horror as they took in the jagged, scarlet and purple scars littering his wrists, forearms, upper forearms, and from his very hipbones right down to his ankles.

Sirius finished pissing with slight difficulty thanks to eyes staring at him the entire time.

"Remus, if you want me, all you gotta do is say." Sirius winked, shoving him over to rinse his hands.

He left his words light as he walked out of the bathroom, and to his relief, moments later, Remus got back into bed too.


	4. Sharing The Secret

**Fourth Year **

He'd seen a lot of things in his short fourteen years of life.

His father crying, the video of one of his transformations he'd taken out of curiosity. His friends disappearing, and a dog, a stag and a rat being in their places. But one thing that was still burned into his memory, even after four years, was the image of the scars decorating Sirius' beautiful body like lewd ribbons.

Over time, his body had collected more scars from patterns of self-abuse. But never had it looked as bad as Sirius'.

He didn't know why it still hit him so hard. Maybe it was because he'd been scratching himself with a rusty old blade when he'd heard the sounds of Sirius stirring, and had to quickly cram the blade behind the toilet and stick his dry toothbrush in his mouth under the guise of brushing his teeth. And then the boy he admired greatly, one of the most brilliant boys he'd ever met, had swaggered in, and his body was so incredibly mutilated.

A shock both because it was like a sign of his own fucking future, and also the realisation that you never really _know _someone.

The boy was just so bloody _cocky_, and underneath all his clothes lay the massacre of his self hate. Just like his very own pathetic self.

It was unbelievable at the time. Why the hell would Sirius Black want to hurt himself? He had everything.

And then Remus began to understand.

The groves were still hidden from James and Peter to this very day. Sirius never allowed anyone else to know.

But Sirius let him in, that one, lonely night in second year. Sirius let him realise that the most perfect of china figures have imperfections.

And over the years, it became so fucking clear, that he couldn't comprehend how he hadn't realised sooner.

Those marks weren't all the result of his restless, destructive fingers.

He wasn't naturally that thin.

Mood swings as intense as those weren't actually normal.

People don't ordinarily have a severe panic attack from unexpected contact.

And it was no coincidence that Sirius knew so many hexes and forbidden spells.

Remus had learned so much, just by looking at the right times, and he had the feeling that there was so much more to learn once the trust between them furthered.

So that night, he made the agonised choice to let Sirius see the real him.

It wasn't dramatic.

He didn't make it some huge thing they had to have a deep, girly conversation about.

He just waited until James and Peter vacated the dormitory and left him and Sirius alone, a feat he managed by distracting Sirius with a written down riddle he knew and simply ignoring James until he stomped out to find Lily.

He knew it'd work. James didn't often leave them alone, but he knew exactly how to get rid of James.

Sirius had a one-track mind. It was likely he hadn't even heard James' grumbles. And James hated being ignored; without attention he'd clear off. Peter would predictably follow.

Remus quietly got out a piece of Transfiguration homework, pulled out his quill and his ink, and with a deep breath, took his school robe off and rolled up the sleeves of his school shirt.

He was three inches through the essay when a screwed up piece of parchment flew past him.

Remus looked up with a raised eyebrow to see an annoyed looking Sirius hanging upside-down off the bed, his eyes closed.

"That's bloody impossible!" he groaned, gesturing blindly in the general direction of the parchment.

Remus let a little grin play around his lips as he continued to work, ignoring the explosions of nerves in his tummy.

He caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision when Sirius returned to the right way, and almost threw up when he felt the other boy's silvery eyes rest on him.

He looked up quickly.

Sirius was taking in the scattered scars on his wrists, few in comparison to his, but still, quite a vast amount.

A long silence settled between them.

Remus pretended to do his essay and Sirius openly stared at him.

It rapidly became unbearable, so Remus simply stretched, cracking his back.

"Want a cigarette?" Sirius asked in a low tone, and Remus nodded, leaning over his bed to pack his stuff away.

When he looked up, Sirius had two lit cigarettes dangling from his mouth, and was rolling his own sleeves up.

Remus swiftly crossed the room and took one of the cigarettes with a mutter of thanks, and shot Sirius a questioning look.

"Guess we have no secrets now, right Moony?" he commented, exhaling a cloud of smoke and chuckling darkly.

"Guess not." he replied in response, and turned to stare out of the window.


	5. Sirius' Anorexia

**Fifth Year **

It's not that he didn't want to eat.

He'd love nothing more. Watching James as he ate in the Great Hall whilst he just sipped water...it was painful, yeah. Both physically and mentally. Sirius watched him shovel thousands of calories per meal into his mouth at least four times a day, and he also watched James never seem to gain weight from it.

And sometimes, of course, he did binge. Like all anorexic people, he lost control, and he'd sit down, and he'd eat the exact same amount as James. But the difference was, later that night, he'd classify it as the worst mistake of his life, feel like he gained a hell of a lot of weight, run it off plus extra, and then fast for the next day.

James thought it was weird, to say the least. One minute his best friend ate minimally, the next he'd be eating everything he saw, and then sometimes he didn't eat at all.

But after four years of friendship, James learned not to comment on that sort of stuff. He pretty much avoided the topic of food altogether. If James mentioned it, Sirius' mind would cloud up with all the dark things he tried so desperately to repress, and he had to leave, to break down, to relieve the stress constantly on his chest.

He'd lock himself in the bathroom, or he'd leave the castle completely and hide somewhere in the grounds. Normally, Sirius went to exercise off all the calories he ate, but he never told anyone about that because they'd just think he was a huge girl.

The thing was...he hated food.

He hated the feel of it in him, the way it stopped his stomach from gurgling and ceased the perpetual tremors in his body. He hated feeling weighted down by it, and eating numbers, not food. He basically only ate it when he was on the verge of death, or he was binging because he was upset.

Sirius hated to lose control, because his weight was all that he could control.

When his world was spinning off its axis, the grounding sensation of starving was there to help him through it.

And as an anorexic, he was hard-wired to be insanely resentful of bulimics.

Something that Remus just happened to be.

At points, he felt crazily jealous of how Remus just ate whatever he wanted and never gained because he vomited it up. His stomach was never louder than the radio; he never got stared at in class. And Remus managed to maintain a slightly underweight body fat percentage, meaning that he was just thin enough in his eyes, but never really too thin for anyone else to care. And the way Remus just ate whatever the fuck he craved...it drove Sirius mad, because there were days where he'd kill a man for a piece of chocolate, and then Remus would eat three bars in front of him without stopping to savour the taste, and throw it up four minutes later, just to return and start it up again.

Sometimes, he really felt like punching the other boy.

Anorexics and bulimics are both control freaks, but every other aspect is pretty much a polar opposite.

Remus indulged his cravings everyday, never going a day without food that Sirius noticed.

Sirius indulged his crazy side.

He'd fast for days and days, egged on by the dizziness and the feeling of weightlessness and the shakes, the hunger, the lack of appetite...

It was like a drug, and it sure was easier to get.

But he had to be careful.

Last year, he'd gone a little bit too far.

He'd been on the Quiddich Team at the time, and had gained weight from eating everyday because he was always so drained after matches.

His breaking point was the day someone had commented that he didn't look "sickly and starving anymore," that instead he looked like he was "healthy and filling out."

The phrase "filling out" clawed away at him.

That day, Sirius put down his fork, and he didn't touch another bite of food for two entire weeks.

The first three days had gone unnoticed. Remus had realised he wasn't eating by day four, but he'd just pretended he had the flu; he was certainly shaking enough, and they all bought it for an entire extra three days.

Six days in, James had forced him to sit down and eat a meal. But he'd gotten distracted by the beacon of his desire, Lily Evans, and Sirius had dropped all of his meal except a few scraps into the napkin on his lap, tied it shut, tossed it on the floor and kicked it so hard it flew halfway across the hall. No one saw him do it, and Sirius had simply drank water until he was visibly bloated, dropped down his fork full of untouched chicken and announced he was going to bed.

He'd only "ate" when Remus was busy purging, because it was the same time Peter was in the library and Lily Evans was in the Hall. That way, he'd lasted five days without anybody realising he was simply throwing food away.

Because as long as James saw an empty plate after half an hour, he was satisfied.

On the eleventh day, Sirius had received a two-day detention right at the time of the evening meal, and he was delighted.

He'd been allowed to catch the last five minutes of the meal, but no one was there, so all he did was sip water.

As per usual.

He'd lost ten pounds by this point, when he'd only gained eight.

And to be honest, physically, he hadn't been feeling too great.

On the fourteenth day, Sirius was the last to get up in Transfiguration class. He'd stumbled onto his feet, blearily packed his bag, and picked it up whilst leaning heavily on the desk because his head was swimming.

When he'd lifted the bag, he'd come to the realisation that the entire thing appeared to be too heavy for his muscles, which had lost a good amount of density, and as the weight of it had made him trip over his chair leg as he was being forced forward, his mind suddenly went blank and he'd passed out as he was falling.

Except he could still see himself.

His theory was it had something to do with his incredibly slow heart rate, because although it was him falling whilst unconscious, he could physically see all of himself.

He saw his arms give out. He watched with a grimace as his nose smashed onto the edge of the desk. He watched as he went backwards and his clumsy, deadened limbs got tangled with the chair.

He'd watched as his half-dead body dropped to the floor.

He'd even caught the dread of knowledge in Moony's eyes as he pieced together all the symptoms. He saw the fear and confusion in Prongs' eyes, and the concern in Professor McGonogall's.

He saw it all, just before he properly blacked out.

Maybe it had been a hallucination, but the strength of the memory made him doubt that.

When he'd awakened, he was tucked tightly into a bed in the Hospital Wing, and had to deal with an overly concerned Madame Pomfrey, an insanely concerned Remus, and an angry James demanding answers.

His excuse?

Stress.

Everyone in power was aware of the stress that Sirius faced with his family on a day to day basis, and Sirius had created wildly pitiful stories about how in the midst of all this consuming stress, the thought of eating had just simply slipped his mind, or it had consumed his entire body, including his appetite.

James hadn't bought it initially, but a mixture of Sirius' fantastically persuasive puppy-dog eyes and the planting of the notion that he'd been throwing food away in James' blind spot simply because he didn't want to worry his best friend eventually managed to persuade him.

Remus, of course, hadn't believed him for a second, but that didn't really matter.

They had an unspoken bond between them, an unbreakable trust. Neither of them could tell on the other without having to deal with their own disorder, and not one nor the other was ready to deal with that.

So Sirius went back to nibbling at food, under James' mindful eye, and Remus just continued to purge.

But to this day, the thing that stopped him from going back to fasting was the one single thing he remembered before he passed out that day in Transfiguration.

The look in James' hazel eyes as he watched his best friend crumble in front of him, and the single cry of "Sirius!" that had more heartbreak and dread in it than he ever wanted James to feel.


	6. Remus' Bulimia

**Fifth Year **

He'd had issues with food for as long as he could remember.

He'd been slightly overweight as a child. It had been just another thing used against him, as well as his transformation scars and his odd mannerisms. Relentlessly bullied by all the other children, Remus found he could only find comfort in eating until there was no food left. Which in turn, made him gain more weight, and so it continued in a vicious cycle.

Remus wasn't sure exactly what had started it all, when he had made the decision to put his fingers down his throat and vomit up all the food in his belly.

He just knew that one day, he'd done it, and now here he was, a sixteen year old boy in the grips of bulimia nervosa.

He'd dropped the baby fat through his habit, plus an extra chunk of weight, and nowadays looked relatively normal for his size, if not a little on the thin side.

It stopped being about the mirror a long time ago.

It stopped being about the scales, and the calories, and the fat content, and became a part of him.

Like an old friend, it was there to greet him, relieve his stress, give him a semblance of control. Through excessively good grades and his eating disorder, Remus managed to make up for the extreme loss of control he experienced every month through his transformations, and quickly became a habit, maybe even his best friend.

Sirius knew, of course, but how could he possibly understand? He never ate more than necessary to stay alive.

It was a horrifying idea, of course, but one Remus had quickly become used to, as you do being in close proximity to Sirius and knowing all of his dirty little secrets. The boy was like a living inspiration.

Hipbones showing when he lay down. Rib bones protruding when he stretched, perfect, delicate wrist bones underneath his paper-like skin.

Sure, it wasn't really about the weight anymore, but that didn't stop the explosions of envy inside his gut when he'd study Sirius. Study his body.

Bulimia provided him with an element of control, but really, anorexia was the ultimate sense of it.

He'd spent nights sobbing, wishing until his chest ached that he could have the self control not to shovel food in his mouth at every mealtime. That he could slump next to James with an aimless, cocky smirk and watch his best friend eat and eat, all whilst never touching a single bite.

His reward was his perfection, his body, mainly. His perfect, tiny body, skin only just managing to stretch over his skeleton.

And he didn't even have consequences. He never had the acid reflux, or the infamous bloody vomit scare, the scars on his knuckles, the thinning enamel on his teeth which he had to magically repair every few months…Sirius had it all.

As long as Sirius had his cigarettes and his caffeine, he could go food-free for days.

And honestly, if Remus could choose one thing about Sirius Black that could be mimicked in his own personality, it would be that.

Not the end result of bones and endless bruises, just the means to get there. Like wishing for a boat instead of wishing to already be on the next island over.

It would make him appreciate it more.

He loved the idea of being terrifyingly thin, of experiencing the perpetual dizziness Sirius complained about firsthand. Being full just by drinking in air, rather than shovelling food down his throat, throwing it all up, and then retiring to his bed knowing that tomorrow would be exactly the same.

Sometimes once, sometimes twice, and on bad days, maybe four or five times. But every day, without fail, he'd throw up. He'd heave and heave until there was nothing left but the bitter taste of acid, and then he'd heave some more, just to be sure.

He had to be sure.

He had to be empty, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Those few minutes were his window into Sirius' soul, his chance to experience what he truly craved, much preferable to the cardboard texture all foods seemed to have nowadays.

He'd tried, of course, to starve himself.

Just before Sirius scared them all half to death, in that exact time period, actually.

Remus was unknowingly mimicking Sirius' last two days of fasting before his collapse.

He'd made it to forty-six hours food free, riding the exhilaration and the delight, the two pounds he lost and the euphoria of feeling weightless, but then Sirius had nearly died and he'd gone into shock.

He'd been in a stupor, and when he came back into reality he was sobbing in the bathroom, surrounded by chocolate and puddings, right next to the toilet.

He had no idea how much he'd eaten, so he threw up for as long as it took, and fuck, there was so much food.

The shock had kept him in that cycle for two days, because he just kept drifting in and out of reality, perpetually surrounded by food and sin.

His conscious mind kept him purging, but in that state the message just didn't seem to be getting through. It annoyed him greatly, in retrospect.

Sirius' return had snapped him out of it and things returned to relative normality.

The guilt crashing through him made him devour food like it was a drug, and then the guilt from that made him violently purge it.

He was trapped in a circle of self-blame and depression, and it took several reassurances from Sirius that there was nothing he could have done, and a fair few months, for him to get through it.


	7. Insight Through A Locked Door

**Fifth Year **

Sirius was rudely awakened by a small shattering in the bathroom.

He scanned the dormitory. James was snoring, on the verge of tumbling from his bed, and Peter was huddled up under the quilt, only his mousey hair visible. However, the curtains were wide open around Remus' bed.

"Remus?" he called.

Sirius' sleepy voice quickly turned into alert concern when he received no reply from the fair-haired boy.

He knocked softly on the door, aware of the other two people asleep in the dormitory, and called Remus' name softly again.

Upon hearing a choked sob, he rattled the door handle, to no avail; the door was locked.

"Open the door, Rem, I gotta piss."

Silence.

"Rem! I really gotta piss, open up!"

"Go away Sirius!" Remus' muffled voice called from the other side of the door.

Sirius sighed, shuffling away from the door.

A few minutes later, and there was a metallic clatter from the bathroom, coupled with a soft gasp of pain.

Sirius returned to his place at the door, tapping on it softly.

"Remus Lupin, open the fucking door."

Still no answer.

"…Please?"

"It's three am Sirius, go the fuck back to bed!" Remus sobbed after a second, his voice catching.

"Fuck that, I'm not leaving 'till you get your arse outta that bathroom."

Sirius slid down the door, pressing his ear to it and listening to Remus sob, in exactly the same position as him on the other side, judging by the sound.

"Don't cry Rem." Sirius murmured, pressing his bruised hand against the wood.

Sirius' heightened dog senses felt a movement of heat over the surface over his palm, just small enough to be Remus' hand.

Sirius didn't move for an hour straight, ignoring the cramping of his legs, the ache of his back muscles and the desperate need for a smoke. And his patience paid off; he heard the door click, and a miserable Remus stepped out a second later.

Sirius stood up, his joints clicking, and pulled Remus' sleeve up easily.

A graphic display of deep wounds formed the crude cartoon-like sketch of a wolf across Remus' forearm.

Sirius pulled the boy into the a hug, grabbing him tightly and burying his head into Remus' hair.

Nothing needed to be said, the hug was all Remus needed.

"Hey, d-didn't you have to piss?"

"Eh. The plant needed watering anyway."

Remus pulled away.

"Y-you pissed on the plant."

"You'd rather I pissed on the bed?"

Remus shook his head, sighing, and watched Sirius' lips curve up into his trademark smirk.

The boy really did have no shame.


	8. The Lip Thing

**Fifth Year **

Sirius always chews his mouth when he gets nervous.

He's doing it right now, and he's been doing it for years. As long as I've known him, actually. He was doing it that very first day I met him, stood alone on the Hogwarts platform, and his cheek was sucked in as his jaw moved. Up and down. Up and down. Discreet, but it was there. And I know this because I was watching him.

I watch him a lot. I mean really watch him, not just look at him, because you can look at something and still not really see it. Like an art form. You can let your eyes flicker across a painting, or a sculpture, and you won't really understand what the big deal is. If you don't, then you're not really seeing the art. Just looking at it.

To you, it's a meaningless blur. To me, it's blurs of blue depression mixed with tinges of green envy and slashes of angry red. It's the swirl of emotions under a sea of pretence, or a hurricane blowing through.

Sirius isn't an art form. Because the main difference between Sirius and art, is that Sirius isn't open to interpretation.

Everything Sirius does means something. He's never done anything meaningless.

The way he blinks shows the tiredness making it hard to open his eyes again. The way he breathes is deep, because in Hogwarts, he's always relaxed, even when he's getting chewed out by a teacher.

The occasional chirp of an answer in class emanates from his deep-rooted desire for approval, from his parents, teachers, friends. Everybody, really.

The sleeping around is just to remind him that someone loves him. That he isn't worthless.

The hair is a sign of rebellion, and the way he trims it is the line between rebellion and proper grooming.

The silver in his eyes is the anchor of blood, the blood that ties him down. The bruises underneath them come from his desperate attempts to break free, grasp marks from his relatives.

And the constant contact between him and James is a sign of ownership, in a way.

James chose Sirius. James wasn't born into Sirius' life, and Sirius wasn't born into James'. James chose to be around him, to laugh at the things he says. And vice versa.

So the arm around his shoulder is the relief, the arrogance leaking through at the fact that Sirius is finally sure of the fact that James isn't going anywhere.

But the way Sirius chews his lips is something completely different.

Self hate? Unconscious habit? Punishment? Anticipation?

It could be any of a number of reasons, and for once, I'm not going to analyse it.

Sirius has a letter in his hand, and it's from his parents. I can tell, because his breaths are just a little bit shallower, a little bit faster. And his teeth are going to town on his lower lip.

Sirius hasn't stopped all night. All through classes, and all through the futile attempt at making him do homework, not once has Sirius stopped. And it's almost half twelve now, and I don't think he's realised that everyone's gone to bed, and that we'e in one of those rare moments where it's just me and him, and no one else.

He hasn't opened his mouth in three hours now, and I'm scared what will happen if he does.

He's staring into the fire, and it's two hours later. My eyes are blurred from the textbook on my knee, strained from the amount of times I've glanced up.

I glance up now, but this time, I can't tear my eyes away.

Blood is running down his chin, his lips stained scarlet in a lewd mimic of lipstick. Droplets are staining his ivory skin in a long smudge, merging together to form a river of anxiety. His teeth are still working away, gnawing at the raw skin inside his mouth, and he must have broken a vessel, because blood is beginning to drip onto his lap now.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

"Sirius."

_Drip. Drip. Drip. _

"Sirius?"

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

I shuffle over to him.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

He's not responding, so I go to kneel in front of him.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_"_Sirius."

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

_"_Sirius, stop." I murmur, and he meets my eyes, his mouth stilling.

My hands are on his shoulders, and I move one to swipe away one of those damn drips.

"It's going to be okay." I say firmly, and he nods, nervously licking away some of the blood.

I pull out my wand, muttering an incantation, and the blood disappears, leaving behind skin that seems too pale.

I take his hand, and lead him upstairs.


	9. The Quiet Things No One Ever Knows

**Summer of Fifth year **

I didn't want him to go home.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, five summers later. We'd get off the train, and all of us had our routines.

It started in first year. We all got off the train, in our group, and anxiously scoured the platform, looking for our parents.

Well, all of us except Sirius.

Looking back, we should have realised. I mean, we hadn't seen our parents in months. As much as we didn't want to admit it, we really wanted to see them. Needed to see them, because as much as we liked to believe we were all grown up, we needed them. Needed their reassurance, their praise, their approval.

So in that first year, none of us were really sure what do to. Three of us were fighting the urge to split up straight away, in search of our families, but we also didn't want to be separated.

Peter's mum found him first. She came running over, and he got a little bit teary-eyed as he hugged her. He said a brief goodbye, and she carted him away, both of them talking each other's ears off.

So then it was just the three of us.

James and Sirius were behind me, muttering about how they'd mail each other Zonko products, something about a mirror they needed to work on, promising to stay in touch, laughing about the idea of doing homework.

And then a smiling woman approached us, smelling like freshly cut grass and closely followed by a short, balding man huddled in a coat, with a matching grin. An incredibly familiar grin.

"Mum! Dad!" James exclaimed, noticing them after a minute, and he embraced them both, introducing Sirius and I before promising her they'd leave in a minute, and returning to his conversation.

Sirius was nodding, but his smile seemed forced, tight, and his silvery eyes were fixed on something in the distance.

James and the Potters apparated soon after, and then, it was just Sirius and I left on the platform.

That's around the time my parents appeared. My mum smelled like freshly baked cookies, and engulfed me in a bone-crushing hug. She then started to cry, and my dad laughed, but there were tears in his eyes too.

"Oh Remus, we missed you so much!"

She was fussing with my hair at this point, making me go red because I was very aware of the amused grin on Sirius' face at my embarrassing parents.

"Mum, Dad, this is Sirius. Sirius, these are my parents." I mumbled, and Sirius stepped forward, shaking my dad's hand with a charming smile on his mouth.

My mum then swept him up in a hug, and it was my time to smirk at his completely flabbergasted expression.

"Mum, get off, you're embarrassing him." I laughed, pulling at her sleeve.

She released him, wiping her eyes, and Sirius let out a nervous laugh, which soon faded as a shadow passed over his face.

An incredibly tall, intimidating woman was stood next to him, scowling. Next to her, an even taller man loomed. They both had Sirius' characteristic black hair, aristocratic features, but looked like they had swallowed incredibly bitter lemons.

"Come along boy." the man boomed, and Sirius let out a soft sigh, clapping me on the back.

"It was nice to meet you." he nodded at my parents, carefully avoiding their names, and turned to me. "Until next year, yeah?"

With that, he clasped his father's arm, and the three of them disappeared.

The entire experience had me a little spooked for a few days, but I soon shook it off, not giving it a second thought all summer.

It wasn't until the train back to Hogwarts in second year that it re-emerged in my mind.

Sirius was late that day, and he appeared in our carriage just as the train had set off, panting.

Peter, James and I were all sat down, and we took in Sirius' dishevelled appearance.

To start with, he had a red hand mark across one of his cheeks. His shirt and jeans were rumpled, and his hair was a mess. He also looked too thin, like he hadn't been eating properly.

Of course, we were concerned, but Sirius waved us away, the grin on his face looking stretched, forced.

And when he spoke, his voice was rough from disuse.

For five years, his appearance on the train back got progressively worse, and the worse it got, the more he clammed up about his summers.

We never pushed the issue, not wanting to upset him.

So in the summer of fifth year, Sirius promised James he'd come to stay at his house in August, for at least two weeks, and left the platform with a completely emotionless face.

So naturally, when I got an urgent owl from James on the third of August, commanding me to go to his house immediately, I was incredibly concerned.

It took some convincing, but my parents eventually allowed me to Floo to James' with a bag full of my stuff, to stay for the next week or so, as long as owled them every day.

As soon as I got there, James dragged me to his bedroom, and I realised he had huge shadows under his eyes, as well as an expression of panic.

We burst into James' bedroom, and the first thing I saw was Sirius.

He was sat on the very top of James' bed, his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. Tear tracks were staining his cheeks, and there were several slashes across his face, all in different stages of healing.

"S-Sirius?" I asked tentatively, sitting on the very edge of the bed and trying to make eye contact with him.

He shook his head violently, curling even further into himself.

"What the bloody hell happened?" I asked James, not taking my eyes off Sirius.

"He got here a few days ago, turned up on my doorstep at three in the morning in a right old state. He's been like that since he got here, he hasn't said a word. I don't know what to do!" he exploded, clutching handfuls of his hair and beginning to pace the room.

Ignoring James and his desperate muttering, I stood and knelt by the side of the bed, so I was on eye level with Sirius, or at least I would have been, if his head weren't buried in his knees.

"Padfoot." I murmured in a soothing tone, feeling a burst of relief as two huge, dark eyes peered at me from behind his knees.

Had Sirius' eyes always looked that big? Or was it the way his cheeks were hallowed out?

"Hey." I smiled, and he shakily gulped, not speaking, but not breaking eye contact either.

His jeans were ripped at the knees, revealing two weeping grazes that mirrored the ones on his palms I'd caught a glimpse of before entering the room.

His breathing was still laboured and shallow, and he looked slightly deranged, with knotty hair, a build-up of stubble across his jawbone, incredibly pale skin, and sweeps of dark crescents under his lash line.

His hands were shaking.

"You're okay." I whispered, and put my hand on his.

He jerked back like I'd shocked him with electricity, and his breathing all but stopped, hunching into himself and eyeing me distrustfully.

I sighed, glancing back at James, who'd stilled to observe this reaction and regarded it with anger.

"Merlin, Sirius, just tell us what happened!" he begged, coming over and resting his hands on Sirius' shoulders.

"No, James..." I urged, but it was too late, because Sirius had leapt up and sprinted into the bathroom, where we heard him vomit heavily.

James collapsed down on the bed, groaning loudly and clenching chunks of his hair in his hands once more.

"I don't know what the hell to do." he repeated, his voice muffled by his sleeves and seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was staring at the closed door of the bathroom.

"Call him Padfoot, don't get mad, and don't touch him." I replied absent-mindedly, hearing a moan from the bathroom, and standing up.

I slowly approached the door, tapping gently three times.

"Sirius? I just want to know if you're okay." I spoke into the door crack, rattling the knob when I heard a bang.

I heard a pained mutter come from the bathroom seconds after, and quietly unlocked the door with my wand, stuffing it back in my pocket and knocking once more.

"I'm going to come in now Sirius. Okay?"

I didn't bother waiting for an answer, slowly inching open the door until inside was fully revealed.

I left the door wide open, crouching down next to Sirius who was in a heap on the floor with a ridden-up shirt, one veiny hand clutching the left side of his ribs.

"Could I see?" I asked, and he cracked open his eyes, growling ferociously at me with wild eyes.

"Okay." I replied, in the same tone of voice. "Would you like me to leave?"

He froze, staring right into my eyes, not making a single sound.

"I'd like to stay, if that's okay with you." I murmured, sitting next to him on the floor despite the fact that half of it was covered in vomit and it stank of acidic copper.

After a few minutes, a pitiful whine crept out of Sirius' mouth, and his hold tightened on his side.

* * *

Three days later, things hadn't changed.

it was pouring down, and would have been a typical summer's day in Britain really, if not for the teenage boy lying outside, spread-eagled on the grass and looking warily comfortable.

He was soaked to the bone, water pooling in the hallows of his collarbones and chasing each other in streams into his hair, and he was quite visibly shivering. His hands were red, the knuckles especially scarlet.

I stepped out in the downpour, squinting against the sprays of liquid and taking a few cautious steps towards Sirius.

"Sirius!" I called, unsure if he could hear my voice through the noise of rain hammering down onto the roof. I took his visibly tensed form as a sign that he had, however, and took a few more steps towards him.

"Hey." I said, taking a seat on the grass and crossing my legs, picking at a blade of grass.

I was sat at the bottom of his feet, interestedly watching the twitching of his bare toes as droplets splattered between them.

"Are you going to let me see now?" I asked him, making reference to the conversation in the bathroom, the last time I'd actually talked to him.

I was mildly surprised when he obliged, nervously eyeing the surroundings for intruders in the bushes before pulling his shirt up inch by inch, pausing after every raise to ensure he was still safe.

I waited patiently, pulling out individual blades of grass without looking, watching his chest become more and more visible until it was entirely hitched up.

I could feel Sirius' eyes on my face, and didn't react in the slightest to the misty bruise angrily decorating his ribs, turning every shade of brown and blue possible before dissolving into a slight tinge of yellow at the bottom.

"It looks okay." I murmured, even though it didn't. "I'm sure it'll be okay." I added, even though it wouldn't. "But maybe you should ask James' mum to take a look at it later on, if you feel up to it." I finished, not bothering to choose my words carefully because they were generally always the right ones. A quality of mine, that, and a pretty good one at that. I'd have been a psychologist perhaps, if it wouldn't have been so hypocritical.

Sirius allowed himself a shaky nod, yanking the hem of his shirt back down and returning his gaze to the angry grey sky, and I stood, heading back into the house and shaking my dripping wet hair.

* * *

Sirius came back inside when it stopped raining, which was a shock in itself, because Sirius generally stayed outside long after the downpour had stopped, staring up into a swirling grey abyss with unfathomable thoughts lingering in his eyes.

I handed him a towel as soon as he came back inside, and he accepted it, roughly rubbing it through his hair before wringing out his clothes all over the floor and dropping the towel on top of the puddle.

He headed upstairs, and I followed him, accompanied by James, who was chewing his lip with as much force as he could muster, looking rather pale.

Sirius went into James' room, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the ground with a wet slap, and did the same with his pants.

Aside from boxers, a now completely naked Sirius stood in front of us, shivering a little bit, staring out of the window as we stared at his lacerated back.

Sirius hadn't changed his clothes for the entire four days he'd been here, and James moved mechanically over to his drawers, pulling out a pair of pyjamas with a matching shirt and hesitantly approached Sirius, offering them to him.

An even bigger shock was when Sirius took them without even a flinch, nodding at James.

James returned to his previous stance next to me, and Sirius held the pants out in front of him, nervously swallowing, and meeting my eyes.

"Uh..." he whispered hoarsely, not breaking eye contact with me.

"Oh. _Oh. _James, maybe we should give Sirius a little privacy." I said softly.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll just be, uh, right outside!" James said, a little too loudly, hastily turning round and leaving the room.

I watched him leave, and let a dry chuckle escape my mouth despite myself, but the biggest shock of the day was when Sirius snorted with laughter from across the room.

"Sorry." we both muttered simultaneously, and both of us laughed once more, and this time, it was a little less forced, a little more familiar of a taste, of a sound.

Sirius dropped his boxers at that point, and quickly pulled on his pyjamas, but I was staring right at him when he did, just far away enough so that I saw everything in one glance, yet just close enough so that the blush that rushed across my cheeks was quite obvious to the now-grinning Sirius.

It was a small grin, and looked like it was too wide for his lips, stretching his waxy cheeks, and yet promised familiarity and routine, of something old, yet something completely new, all in one.

My heart was hammering against my ribs as he put on his shirt, quite evidently flustered, and the throaty laugh he let out after taking in my appearance did nothing to help, nor did the roughness, as instead of the ill, neglected edge it had added not two minutes ago, his laugh now sounded sexy and dark, all rolled onto one.

And fuck, did Sirius' eyes always glimmer like that?

We were both staring at each other like idiots at this point, my mouth open ever so slightly, and his cheek pulled up ever so slightly, before the sound of the door bursting open broke our trance.

Sirius immediately tensed, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing the intruder suspiciously, relaxing ever so slightly when he realised it was just Mr. Potter.

"It's nice to have you back son." he said, with a sincere grin that was ever so reminiscent of James, and a similar expression lit up Sirius' own face.

"It's nice to be back, Sir." he murmured, and I smiled.


	10. Intimacy

**Sixth Year **

Intimacy is _not _who gets to touch your body.

True intimacy is to be completely vulnerable with another person, to hide nothing. To expose the person underneath.

To be naked, physically, isn't total intimacy.

Your body is not a labyrinth which maps out hundreds of late night thoughts. It shows hunger, stress, sadness… all of those feelings. You can infer that someone is nervous by the way their hands are restless, but you still have no idea why.

And even if you somehow knew, if it was written on their fingers, scripted on their fingernails, you probably wouldn't bother to read it anyway.

No, true intimacy is the person you call at three in the morning, when all the sane people are fast asleep, and your mind is a hijacked carousel, going round, and round, and round…

It's the person who gets the password to your locked up darkest thoughts, even if you don't want them to have it.

And sometimes, they use it for good. Sometimes, they don't. You never truly _know. _Because intimacy is based on trust.

Without trust, you have no foundation for intimacy - the entire thing will collapse.

Sirius stole my password long ago. And I like to think I have his. But then there are times like this, where he's sat two metres away from me, chewing his lower lip with a slight frown on his face, gazing into a fire that was extinguished long ago.

I wonder what he's thinking about.

The lip thing shows he's nervous. The frown…he's thinking. Hard. Debating.

Running away from home?

That's always been on his mind, more so as he gets older. The majority of his thoughts have to do with his parents. But what…

"I'm going to stop cutting." Sirius mumbled suddenly, and I froze.

"Oh." I breathed, my voice remaining calm despite the uproar of emotion in my head.

Everything I thought I knew about Sirius Black had just been blown up by that mine bomb of a confession he'd just dropped.

"Yeah." Sirius muttered, standing up. "Well, I'm going to bed then."

"Kay." I said absently, my eyes fixed to the floor.

I heard him leave the room, the distant slam of the dormitory door and the disgruntled yell from James, who'd previously been asleep, and let out a massive exhale, letting myself slide down the couch and onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

I shouldn't be dismayed, because that makes me such a fucking horrible person. But I can't help this feeling of horror, the dread that I just lost my confidant, my best friend.

It's been a week.

It's been a week since my last conversation with Sirius, a week since Sirius last cut, and a week since I lost my best friend.

God, I'm dreadful. I'm a dreadful person.

It's not that I want Sirius to cut, because I really wouldn't ever wish that on anybody. But it just seems… with every scar that starts to fade on his body, he forgets what I'm going through more and more. I respect his decision. I really do. But if I hear one more goddamn comment about how positive this change has been for him, how positive it'd be for me too if I'd just _try…_

I may actually punch him.

It looks like summer. I'm sat by the edge of the lake, my face angled to the sky, watching a single wisp of a cloud lazily drift across the blue backdrop. A shroud of cold has collected over my body, leaking through the thin material of my shirt, and little shivers are bursting through my body.

"I hate this."

I keep my eyes glued upwards, ignoring the voice behind me, and resisting the urge to sigh when I hear Sirius sit down next to me.

"Wow, was that something negative?" I say sarcastically, even though being cold to him is already making me want to cry.

"I hate this!" Sirius yells, and it echoes all around the lake, making the birds scatter and shoot off into the distance. I cringe, and so does he.

"Hate what?" I mumble, and he sighs miserably, folding his arms behind his head and laying down on the hard soil.

"This. I hate it!" he exclaims, and I swallow, reluctantly turning a few inches towards him.

"I don't know what you mean." I murmur.

"Us not talking. it's fucking horrible!"

"I know." I say, shuffling a tiny bit closer to him. "What else?"

"I hate not cutting!" moans Sirius, screwing his nose up, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of Sirius acting like a child when _this _is what he's complaining about.

"I just…need to." he mutters, and I nod, lowering my eyes to the floor, because I understand exactly what he means; we're on the same page again.

"You can't give up now Sirius." I say unconvincingly, biting my lip.

"I've been trying, Moony. So fucking hard. I've stayed positive even though this has been the most shitty week of my terrible existence, and I just can't…" he starts, anger filling his voice.

"Padfoot, _no_. You haven't cut in an entire fucking _week. _A week! That's fucking amazing! And it's not supposed to be easy, because if recovering from self harm was easy, then it wouldn't be something worth having. And you're going to have these thoughts, and yeah, maybe relapse once or twice, or maybe even more. But you will not give up, because I swear to God, you made a choice ad you will stick to it, even if I have to kick your arse all the way there!"

I'm breathing heavily, both of us silent, a little bit shocked by my outburst.

And then Sirius starts laughing.

"Fucking hell Moony, alright!" he laughs, and after a second I join in too.


	11. Luca

**Sixth Year **

Luca.

Luca and his dirty blonde hair.

Luca and his perfect white-teeth smile.

Luca and his bright blue eyes.

Luca.

Luca.

_Luca._

* * *

Sirius swallowed as Luca's breath tickled his neck. As his tongue flicked over his artery.

Goosebumps erupted all over his body.

He let out a shaky sigh.

_Luca._

* * *

Luca consumed his entire being.

Luca was lay against the sapphire bedsheets, surveying Sirius from under heavy lidded eyes as he stood in front of him, arms pressed against his sides, body completely straight.

Sirius ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his Adam's apple bobbing as Luca's eyes bore into him.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Luca narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, so Sirius stopped, reconsidering every action he'd ever taken.

Luca grinned, beckoning Sirius over.

Sirius let out a tiny exhale, hesitantly stepping forward.

Luca stood.

Luca threw Sirius onto the bed and climbed on top of him.

Sirius' body wouldn't untense.

* * *

A sea of whispers surrounded him, crashing against each other and rolling the shockwaves through his chest.

Luca was in the midst, at his table.

Sirius was in the doorway he'd just come through.

Eyes were swallowing him.

Blue eyes were singeing holes into him.

Luca's hair was perfectly styled.

The door swung open and collided with Sirius' back.

He fell over.

He hit the floor.

Hard.

Luca laughed.

* * *

Sirius was crazed.

He broke a mirror. He broke another.

He punched a hole into the wall.

It magically repaired with a hiss.

Luca was casually leant against the cubicle, wand in hand.

He was watching Sirius.

Sirius screamed at him to leave.

Luca ignored him.

Sirius ensnared Luca, winding lie after lie of hate around his body like a cocoon, and completed his trap with a single shove to the chest.

Luca crashed into the cubicle wall, shock radiating in his eyes.

Sirius let out a harsh laugh.

Sirius left, and Luca didn't move.

* * *

He couldn't speak.

His mouth had material crammed inside it.

His cheeks were bound with polyester.

He was bound to the bed.

Luca was stood over him, a lewd grin on his face.

His shirt was on the floor.

Sirius was only wearing boxers.

Luca winked.

And Sirius sighed, burning with desire.

Luca straddled him, sucking on his collarbone.

And Sirius groaned once more as Luca's wet tongue swept over his skin.

Luca tightened the restraints, until they were setting his wrists on fire.

Luca tightened the gag, until his jaw came off.

Luca murmured in his ear.

Luca left him there.

* * *

Sirius couldn't eat. Sirius couldn't sleep.

He needed to grip Luca's hair.

He needed to rock back and forth.

He needed Luca.

He needed Luca like the air he was reluctant to breathe.

Luca was the air he needed to breathe.

Luca was everything.

_Luca._

* * *

Sirius was bleeding.

There were burn marks on his hips, perfectly circular.

Luca was on the other side of the room.

Sirius was on the bed, half-dead.

Luca was smoking.

Smoking hot.

The wind swept ash from the tip of Luca's cigarette.

Red tinged ash.

* * *

His quill quivered.

Luca was watching him.

Sirius was sat at a desk, his back rigid.

He was writing, with reluctant fingers.

Every sin.

Every sin, he ripped away from the parchment.

And Luca caught it, and read it.

And stared at Sirius.

It took two and a half hours for Sirius to finish.

And by that point, Luca was sneering at him.

* * *

Luca built a wall around Sirius, and nobody but him could drift through it.

But there came a point where Luca could no longer escape himself.

* * *

_Luca._

* * *

Luca cut out his heart just for the sake of having two.

But the joke was on him, because Sirius took his soul.

* * *

Sirius cut his hair short, and Luca laughed.

So Sirius went out and persuaded a girl to come back to his room with him.

Luca walked in halfway through.

Sirius didn't bother stopping.

She didn't seem to mind.

Luca left soon after.

* * *

The night ended with Luca and Sirius playing a game with possessive pronouns and the storm of their own relationship.

Sirius was _Luca's._

Sirius didn't belong to anybody.

* * *

Luca threw him away soon after.

Sirius didn't bother to get up.

* * *

Remus found Sirius crumpled outside the Ravenclaw Common Room entrance, slumped against the wall with a dead look on his face, but that wasn't really anything new.

The new thing was when Sirius made eye contact with him, because Sirius hadn't done that ever since he met Luca, two months ago.

Remus held out his hand, and Sirius took it, allowing Remus to yank him to his feet.

"Where's Luca?" Remus asked, trying to keep the disdain from his voice, and Sirius' eyes emptied.

"I don't know." he said emotionlessly, even though they both knew he was lying.

* * *

Luca really took a toll on Sirius.

The first night, Sirius didn't bother to move from bed.

The second night, Sirius had thirds of every meal and violently threw up everywhere when his stomach rejected it.

The third night, Sirius went to see Luca, and returned half an hour later shaking with anger.

The fourth night, Sirius got horrendously drunk, and went to see Luca again.

This time, he didn't come back until past five in the morning, staggering into the common room missing his shirt, revealing all six hickeys on his neck marking him as Luca's.

The fifth night, Sirius slept it off.

The sixth night, Sirius got into a screaming match with Luca in the Gryffindor common room and ended up physically throwing him out.

The seventh night, Sirius cried.

* * *

On the eighth night, Sirius stayed downstairs with James and had a long conversation.

On the ninth night, Sirius spent all night studying.

And on the tenth night, Sirius slept soundly.

Sirius never ended up speaking to Luca again, and that was just fine with Remus.

He wanted Sirius all to himself.


	12. Trophy Boy

**Sixth Year **

We first noticed it one of the many times Sirius transformed into Padfoot in the dorm.

I was actually the one who noticed it first.

I was trying, futilely as it turned out, to finish my Charms homework. Peter was sat across the room practising a Vanishing spell, seemingly disbelieving he'd managed to actually master it, and James was sat on the floor, polishing his broomstick despite the fact it was gleaming in the first place.

Sirius had been lolling off the side of his bed, his tongue hanging out and looking a lot like a dog in the first place, loudly complaining that we were all incredibly boring, and by this point we'd all managed to tune him out, though we did increase our pace a little in our respective tasks because once Sirius starts to feel neglected, he often does something extremely annoying and distracting so the spotlight is back on him.

Five minutes later, a beautiful glossy dog was in his place, and I sighed deeply, reserving myself to my fate and bracing myself for the assault of a huge black dog that was sure to come in about three seconds.

When seventeen passed, and still my face was clear from dog drool, I looked up, confused, albeit relieved.

Sirius was scratching behind his ears, pretty vigorously.

Slightly annoyed, I put down my quill, mainly pissed at the fact that Sirius had managed to lull me into a false sense of security by having a simple itch.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I approached the miserable looking dog because he was beginning to bleed on the bedsheets, as well as gnaw out a sizeable chunk of fur.

"Padfoot?" I murmured, kneeling in front of the dog, and he simply growled, turning away from me slightly and continuing to scratch.

James looked up at that point, understandably shocked that Sirius had just directly rejected my attention and retreated into himself, especially seeing as he was in dog form.

I swallowed, beginning to feel pretty anxious, because the dog was acting extremely erratically.

I buried one of my hands in Padfoot's glossy coat, and he whined, stilling in his scratching and glancing up at me.

It was then that I noticed a black lump in the millimetre of skin visible on Padfoot shift, and retreat back into the mass of fur on his side.

I yelped a little bit, pulling my hand away, and Padfoot gazed up at me in bewilderment.

"Fleas!" I squealed, in the most manly way imaginable, and James leapt to his feet whilst Peter shrank against the wall, looking thoroughly afraid.

I ran into the bathroom to scrub the hand that I'd been petting Padfoot with, hearing the dog growl and the clatter of claws on the floor as he hurried into a corner to scratch some more.

"Shit." I heard James mutter.

I dried off my hand and re-entered the dormitory, hearing the rapid flaps of Padfoot's ears as he shook his head violently.

"Are you sure?" asked Peter from the other side of the room, eyeing the dog distrustfully.

"Pretty sure yeah. Padfoot! C'mere…" I called weakly, because no, I didn't particularly want to comb through the infested dog's fur to ascertain the fleas I was already certain of.

Sirius morphed back into a lanky, handsome teenage boy at that point, anger on his expression, and got up.

"I do not have fleas!" he bellowed, twisting around his hands as a stormy expression overtook his face.

I groaned, desperately searching for words, but before any came, James stepped forward with a soft expression.

"I'm sure you don't. But just let Moony and I check, or else he'll throw a famous bitch fit and refuse to sleep in the dormitory ever again." he murmured, and Sirius hesitated whilst I shot him a narrow-eyed glare, all I could do as there was no way I could convincingly deny that.

Sirius stepped forward defiantly, a picture of a bruised ego, and his fingers were twitching as he desperately tried not to scratch his head and prove me right.

He turned into Padfoot once more, but instead of trotting over to us as usual, he sat down and started nibbling frantically on his abdomen, the clashes of his incisors the only sound in the room.

James approached the dog, soothingly running his fingers through his fur whilst I joined Peter on the bed, mildly disgusted.

Padfoot submitted at once and rolled over, and James quickly searched through his fur, separating chunks from each other and scanning the exposed skin.

He shot both of us a subtle nod, before beckoning Padfoot to return to an upright decision, but Peter yelled out in disgust, an urge which I'd resisted, and rushed to the bathroom, where we could hear him clattering things about.

Sirius, back human again, growled in an very animalistic manner.

"_I do not have fleas!_" he half-screamed, and James bit his lower lip, looking very uncomfortable.

"Actually mate…" he started, and paused, watching Sirius frantically begin to scratch his scalp with an enraged, defiant expression.

The action made my own scalp tingle, and I tried to convince myself that it was all psychological, but the fact that an infested animal had been living with us in the dormitory was enough to throw me over the edge and I ran into the bathroom, intent on shaving all of my hair off and burning both my clothes and my bed, as well as sleeping on the sofa.

Peter happened to throw a spanner in the works, however, yanking the razor from my fingers and throwing it into the bathtub.

"Remus, _no. _You're overreacting." he said, and I grasped the ends of my hair despairingly.

"And you aren't?!" I questioned, half-hysterical.

"I'm a huge insectaphobe!" he cried.

"So am I!" I half-sobbed, and he gripped my wrists, in a vain attempt to stop me from clawing off every inch of my skin.

We both shared half a minute of panicked, intense horror that occurred in absolute silence, before Peter grabbed my hand.

"We have to help him." he said firmly, dragging me back into the dormitory.

Sirius was curled up in the corner of his bed whilst James sat on the edge, not moving except for the occasional scratch of his scalp.

My fingers were twitching relentlessly just watching him, so I turned away, stripping the three vacated beds and using my wand to heat-wash and dry them successively, whilst I mused on how the hell James and Peter weren't panicking at the thought of the tiny bloodsuckers leaping onto their own skin, shuddering occasionally.

I conjured a huge black bin bag and sealed the three quilts and pillows inside, sealing it as tightly as I could, and then collected our combs and brushes, and performed the same ritual on them.

I then went around the room square metre by square metre, excessively using the cleaning spell until I was physically panting from the exertion and the floor was sparkling.

The only place that wasn't stripped bare and sparkling by this point was Sirius' bed, and I stared at it for a couple of very long minutes until James met my eye with a warning on his lips.

Seeing my expression of panic, however, he muttered something about a shower and headed to the bathroom, and Peter murmured something about doing the same but in the changing rooms, until it was just a silent Sirius and a hyperventilating me left in the room.

"Sirius, I need to clean your bed." I said, and he ignored me.

"_Sirius!" _

'I'm a human being."

Sirius sat up, his eyes glittering.

"I'm not denying that, but fleas easily transfer onto humans and you and your mutt form both have them, so I really don't have time to nurse your pride right now, I need to clean your bed and you need to be…" I started.

"Bleached? Shaved? _Put down?_" he asked causally, though a note of hurt was ringing through his voice.

"No, _cleaned. _They have specific shampoo for these types of problems…"

"I know that, I'm not an idiot." he snapped, standing up and storming into the bathroom with a weakly protesting James in the midst, slamming the door.

I wasted no time in stripping and cleaning his bed, but as well as sealing his bedding in a separate bag, I cleaned each side of the mattress three times, until the white of it hurt my eyes, and finally dropped it.

Hearing the shower turn off as James finished his shower, I collapsed down onto the floor and yanked out several textbooks from under my bed, searching and searching.

Peter came back into the dormitory fully dressed, though with dripping wet hair, and I commanded him to take a change of clothes for us all and lock himself into the bathroom, as I finally found what I was looking for.

"Move away from the door!" I ordered, hearing grumblings and murmurs of protest as the three boys moved.

Heading over to the main door of our dormitory, I double locked the doors and cast a Locking charm around it, before manifesting a blue sealant foam and spraying it anywhere visible that had any cracks.

I then stood right next to the bathroom door, and aimed my wand at the furthest corner of the room, muttering under my breath with all my concentration on getting the incantation correct.

A noxious green mist erupted from the tip and billowed into the corner, and I wasted no time exploding through the bathroom door, slamming it closed and repeating the same sealing spell all around the doorframe.

Turning back, the bathroom was shrouded in mist from the heat of the water, and I caught sight of three pairs of eyes gazing at me in confusion.

"Kills all rodents that are specific to the lice or flea family." I muttered as an explanation, flipping the shower on and manifesting a fine-tooth comb.

"Transform and get in." I muttered to Sirius, and he slammed his fist into the wall, making me flinch as a huge indentation was left.

Muttering darkly, he did as I asked, and managed to clamber into the bathtub despite the fact he was limping slightly on his paw.

* * *

"What the hell is your problem?" I growled.

Sirius was sopping wet, dressed only in his boxers and lounging in a puddle on my mattress.

He'd been here ever since I'd allowed us all out of the bathroom, deeming my bed suitable to soak through, and had been glaring at the hangings above his head ever since.

James and Peter had made themselves scarce, James claiming he had a monthly limit on how much time he could spend in a steamy bathroom with three other boys and it had been far surpassed, Peter fully agreeing.

I'd scrubbed down the bathroom by this point and hauled the two bin bags down to the washing room, requesting the house elves to hot wash and dry them and then send them back up, and I was bloody exhausted.

All I wanted was to collapse down on my clean bed and process everything that had happened today, but Sirius and his damn fleas were in the way.

"You." he snapped, not meeting my eyes, hands folded beneath his head and legs neatly crossed in front of him.

"Sirius, you had _fleas!_ What the hell did you expect me to do!" I sighed, leaning against the bedpost and swaying a little bit.

"Treat me like a fucking human being." he said coldly, standing up and exiting the room but leaving a trail of wet splashes in his wake.

I dried my mattress and gingerly sat on the end, before deciding, screw it, and flopping onto it lifelessly.

I'd triggered one of Sirius Black's infamous moods, and Merlin, it was annoyingly time consuming to snap him out of it.

_'Why the hell am I friends with him?' _I quietly mused to myself, but was silenced by a tirade of mocking laughter that happened inside my head but didn't seem like a noise I'd ever made.

* * *

Somewhere in between Sirius storming out and Sirius storming back in, I'd fallen asleep. I was rudely awakened by the clangs and bangs of various objects as they were violently thrown into his trunk, and sat up, bleary-eyed and confused.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, my voice thick with sleep, and he simply scowled.

"Leaving." he answered shortly, tossing in several textbooks to re-iterate his anger.

"You're bloody well not." I snapped, pulling myself up and stomping over to the idiot.

He made to add a pair of Muggle trainers to the messy pile in his trunk, but I grabbed his wrist, squeezing it so he dropped them and forcing him to look at me.

"Stop it." I commanded, looking right into his eyes and not flinching in the slightest at the thunderstorm in them.

"Get the hell off me, Lupin." he snarled, trying to throw my hand off, but I shook my head.

"No." I answered simply, and opened my mouth to say more.

"I think you've said enough for one day." snapped Sirius, succeeding in shaking my hand off but not making an attempt to continue packing.

"Sirius, I..."

"You talk too much." he murmured, his infuriated eyes lingering on my lips.

"_Sirius..._" I began incredulously.

"_Shut_ the fuck _up_." he ordered, and slammed his mouth onto mine.


	13. Spill

**Sixth Year **

_James_

Teachers are commanding of respect.

The swish of their robes, the flash in their eyes when you antagonise them, their angry red scrawl.

Every aspect of a teacher demands respect. They don't expect thank you's, at least, not from the students they teach, and it's their job to put you in place in your most unruly years.

Being a teacher is certainly not an easy job.

But there are times when a teacher does not command our respect, when they step over the line. It's hard to differentiate between a well-deserved slap on the wrists, and a completely unprecedented rant, but at one time or another, it's extremely clear when a teacher has crossed the boundaries.

This was one of those times.

It started yesterday.

Professor McGonagall ended the lesson by informing us of an end of module test, a tight-lipped statement met with groans of dismay, the loudest of which came from Sirius.

I was confused by this. Sirius was fantastic at Transfiguration, managing to ace every test because he was naturally talented at the practicals and already knew half of the theory, having picked a lot up in his Animagus research.

If Sirius believed he was screwed, then what the hell did that mean for me?

Sure, I defeated Sirius by miles in the theory, but he had the headstart of being part of a pure-blood family. So much was already ingrained into him.

This last round of Transfiguration ended a week of hell, of exams and aching wrists coupled with dark circles and stifled yawns. Sirius had over-revised in every subject; yesterday he almost set Professor Flitwick on fire with a few mis-aimed sparks.

He was stumbling around in a stupor, choosing studying over food and sleep, and seemed to be taking the brunt of the stress and self-doubt that arrived with exam week.

I felt sorry for him, but a lot of the misery he was inflicting on himself - if he'd only had a nap, maybe he wouldn't have nodded off in the middle of the Defence Against The Dark Arts practical and left a terrified Professor Fowler to deal with a boggart.

When we got back to the dorms, he went through the usual routine of pulling out eight more textbooks than necessary and settling into a nest on the floor, surrounded by his revision guides which he could hardly see through the yawn-induced tears in his eyes.

I ambled over and sat in front of him, lying back into his lap and staring straight ahead.

I saw his jaw tighten, and braced myself as he pushed me off, the shadows the fire was casting making his eyes look even more haunted and gaunt.

"Not now James." he muttered, returning back to his book.

I sighed, frustrated - I really fucking missed my best friend, and threw myself face down on the sofa, muffling a yawn.

A tiny dip of weight in the couch alerted me to a presence, and I groaned.

"He's just stressed out." came Remus' gentle murmur, and although I was still buried in the couch, I'm pretty sure Remus sensed my eye roll, because he retreated.

I spent a few minutes wallowing in self pity, and then sat up, resigned, and decided to scan for one Lily Evans.

To my annoyance, however, I saw Remus and Sirius huddled in the corner, books askew and forgotten as they had a serious conversation.

I heard Sirius' bitter laugh from across the room, and scowled as Remus soothed him, making his sarcasm melt into a genuine grin, one that until a few years ago, only I had been able to elicit from him.

I stormed upstairs at that point, annoyed at my own jealousy, but still noticed the lack of dark eyes that used to survey my every move.

* * *

_Remus_

"How many meals have you skipped?"

Sirius groaned, in the exact same manner as James had only moments previously, and shifted a few textbooks from next to him so I could sit down.

"Only one or two." he muttered in response.

"So that translated into Sirius means about a week's worth, with a snack here and there so you don't pass out?" I said, with forced politeness.

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, like it-"

"How many nights of sleep?" I interrupted.

"What?"

"I said, how many nights of sleep have you skipped to study?" I repeated, leaning in a little closer.

"How did you-"

"I'm a book snogger, remember? I know exactly what you're doing."

Sirius stared at me for a few minutes, something dark passing over his eyes.

"It's not like it bloody matters anyway, I'm still failing in every subject."

He let out a loud, bitter chuckle which attracted the attention of everyone in the vicinity, including a frustrated-looking James.

"You know you're not failing, you idiot. Stop being so bloody miserable." I sighed, watching his expression under my eyelashes.

Annoyance mixed with guilt crossed his face, before a grin cracked across his lips and he laughed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a fuming James storming past us, coupled with a slammed door moments after.

Ignoring this, he turned back to me.

"Thanks, Moony." he murmured.

"Anytime." I grinned, standing up and making Sirius wince as my knees cracked.

I smirked, bidding him goodbye, and wandered off across the room, in search of my own study guides.

* * *

_Sirius_

There's a certain point within sleep deprivation infused with caffeine where you reach a state of hyper-tiredness.

It's impossible to explain unless you've experienced it, but basically entails a huge surge of energy coupled with bones that refuse to comply with releasing it. It's bloody frustrating, I can tell you that.

I reached this phenomenon during the Transfiguration test today. My handwriting was shaky, worsening my messy scrawl as jitters ran up and down my arms like hands of the devil, and my accelerating brain spat out thoughts sluggishly.

I'd spent all night revising for this, eating only a piece of toast in the morning, and hadn't slept at all. My bloody stomach was making the most disgusting sounds - gurgling and whining as it begged me for food and I laughed at it's desperation.

I finished the test in record time, proudly handing it in to McGonagall, who suspiciously ran her wand over it to ensure it was valid, which made me chuckle. The woman is so suspicious, it's hilarious.

After the test, I headed straight to the library, unintentionally staying until closing time as I studied for extra credit, and then headed to bed for few hours sleep.

However, my stomach decided to punish me for refusing to feed it, and kept me up most of the night dashing acid up my oesophagus - not the most pleasant experience. Although I got two hours sleep at the most, and I was annoyed and frustrated at the situation, the test was never a concern for me.

The next day, the angry Professor McGonagall stumbled into the classroom, dumping down a hundred sheets of parchment right next to the open window, parchment which naturally blew all the way across the room.

It took ten minutes for her to retrieve them all and angrily slam the window shut, and she reached for her goblet, to take a sip of pumpkin juice, but in her anger managed to instead pour half of it down her front.

We all regarded her nervously as the launched the goblet halfway across the classroom, with enough force to make it shatter into pieces, and as her attempt at a Cleaning spell only succeeded in singing her already ruined robes.

At breaking point, she once again attempted it, her hair in disarray, looking like one more failure would result in someone being murdured.

I saw Rems draw his wand, counter-acting her spell and re-enacting his own, and her robes became as good as new.

The sneaky little bastard winked at me as he pocketed his wand, plastering on the fakest look of innocence I've ever seen, but that the teachers just _ate _up, and acted as though nothing different had occurred.

The flustered teacher hastily dusted down her robes, and seized the papers, anger still bubbling in her eyes.

She slammed parchment after parchment in front of the respective owners, nearly destroying the desks in the process, until at last her eyes rested on my cocky smirk.

She rammed the paper down excessively forcefully, allowing me to glance at the P scrawled at the top, just below my trembling name, and met my gaze.

"That's right, wipe that arrogant smile from your face!" she yelled, cheeks flushed and eyes burning with malice.

Disappointment welled up inside of me, eroding my success in previous tests and lobbing themselves against my vulnerable self-esteem.

"This is completely unacceptable, Black!" she screamed, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the eyes of everyone in the class landed upon us.

"Dammit." I groaned, trying to diffuse the tension by adding a joking edge, and she slammed a hand down, the other one on her hip, leaning over me threateningly.

"Do you think this is _amusing?" _she jeered, in a tone exactly like my mother used to use.

"No." I snapped back, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

"You insolent little brat." she muttered, almost under her breath, unknowingly mirroring my mother's favourite insult to throw at me, just before the threw a plate or an Unforgivable straight after.

Defensive anger coursed through my veins - I was more in control here.

"Old bat." I said simply, and she snapped upright, as though electrocuted, her gaze cold.

"Excuse me?" she said quietly, and I leapt to my feet, the chair behind me tumbling to the ground, regarded with shock.

"I said, old bat! I don't have to bloody take this from a miserable old bat!" I roared, getting as close to her face as I dared, and then grinned insanely and stormed out of the classroom and slammed the door behind me.

* * *

_Remus_

A shocked silence was left in the furious Sirius' wake, which sobered Professor McGonagall up and froze the rest of us in a perpetual state of immense disbelief.

She slowly made her way to the front, and sank into the seat, shock etched onto her features.

"Wait for it." James muttered, breaking the spell, and as soon as I exhaled I heard a tremendous _crash_, sounding very much like a door slamming. James made eye contact with McGonagall, who dismissed him with an absent-minded wave of the hand, still trying to process what had just happened, and James hurried away after his best friend.

* * *

_Sirius_

I've never been angrier than I was in the three minutes following the outburst between McGonagall and I. After I stormed away, I paced the corridors, adrenaline and rage flooding through my veins and encompassing my being.

I stormed up the stairs, desperate for a release, and seeing the first thing that penetrated my red-clouded mind, clenched my fist and hit it as hard as I could.

* * *

_James_

I found him on the fifth floor corridor, sat with his knees against his chest, cradling his right hand and grimacing in pain.

Not saying a word, I dropped down next to him, humming under my breath and watching the portraits in front of us whisper suspiciously to each other. I was relatively unfazed by the situation - Sirius had been due a breakdown any day now, and McGonagall had been way out of line. So I sat beside him, waiting patiently until he stopped glaring at specks of dust and glanced up at me.

"Y'okay?" I asked, and he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

I stood up wordlessly and offered my hand out to him, which he clumsily grasped with his left, and yanked him up.

We didn't say a word the entirety of the way back, but he nodded at me and I returned the gesture, pushing the door open and ushering him in.

McGonagall pointed at the back table, and we both took a seat, waiting somewhat nervously for her to approach. Anger was still radiating off Sirius though.

However, upon her arrival she simply manifested a towel wrapped around ice, and handed it to Sirius, murmured an apology, and walked away.

I took the opportunity to look down at Sirius' hand.

The knuckles were swollen and dark purple, puddles already forming although he'd only been injured for five minutes. His fingers were slashed, openly bleeding from the brunt of the force, and a pained wince crossed his handsome face as he rested the pack on his ruined joint.


	14. Dom

**Sixth Year **

* * *

Short, scratchy fingernails. Gritty smiles and tanned skin.

Dom's eyes are the colour of dead seaweed on the bottom of a dirty ocean.

Dom has cold hands and dead lips, both of which I prefer wrapped around my dick.

Tropical storms cannot even begin to explain Dom.

* * *

Sometimes I like to fuck Dom into oblivion and sometimes I like to stare at him from across a crowded classroom.

Dom sees me like a light from a distant window, only approaching when the frame is open.

* * *

Dom likes to smash glass bottles on walls, and I like to catch them before they shatter.

When he explodes I like to admire the colours in the stormy sky.

Sometimes I push Dom too far, just because when I do, his eyes sparkle like the sun kissing the deepest part of a muddy lake.

* * *

Dom likes old records and astronomy, and I like blow jobs, so I like old records and astronomy too.

Dom likes to point out my namesake in the sky. He likes to admire the dog star, as though he can't see the way Orion always lurks close by, ready to pounce.

I like dusky breezes and the velvet folds of the atmosphere, and I like the way my whiskey burns as it trickles down my throat.

I like the way Dom's lip curls around the edge, and the sound his knuckles make when he flexes his fingers.

* * *

When I sneezed a curse across Dom's delicate cheekbones, I liked the way his tears melted into red streaks and turned him into something otherworldly.

I liked the way the bright white bandages looked across his nose, and the way he trembled when I ran my finger across the damages.

* * *

I like the fear in Dom's eyes then blue pressure bandages can't stop the flow of ruby from my wrists, but I like his masking jokes even more.

I like it when Dom talks to me like I'm a piece of shit.

* * *

When Dom whimpers from underneath me when I fuck him, I give him lines of hickeys down his thin neck.

I want people to know that Dom is mine.

* * *

Dom has a dark cloud hanging above his head which blackens his mouth and lowers his eyebrows, and steaks of lightning from it make him collapse with anxiety whenever someone that he doesn't trust ventures too close.

I like to take him out in public, my right arm draped around his shoulders, because as long as I do, not so much as a breath catches in his throat.

* * *

Last time a thunderstorm struck, I stole a bottle of whiskey and Dom and I went outside to marvel at the purple forks of electricity and drink ourselves into oblivion.

I fucked him under an oak tree four hundred metres away from the castle, and prayed for the lightning to hit all the way through.

I thought about Dom with electricity coursing through his body, hundreds of volts making him convulse, and I came harder than I've ever came before.

* * *

The last time Dom got angry, he threw me down the stairs, breaking three of my ribs.

The only reason I didn't descend into fits of hysterical laughter was because air seemed oddly hard to come by at the time. I always did have a knack for laughing at the worst times. Maybe that's why Dom threw me down the stairs.

* * *

I like the cigarettes that Dom rolls the most.

I like the way his thin fingers curl the paper, the way his clipped fingernails cling to the tobacco, the bend of his fingers as he licks the finishing touches.

Dom's eyes always glimmer with playfulness as he watches me watching him.

* * *

When Dom and I collide, it's like throwing two Charms together, a multitude of bright sparks and a huge blaze.

* * *

Dom likes to steal my clothes and spray my cologne in the air. He likes to run his fingers across my cheekbones and stare into my eyes.

* * *

Sometimes I flirt with other girls in front of him because his eyes explode in emerald flames.

I like the way his hands shake when I brush their hair back, when I let my hands linger on the collar of their shirt after I pretend to straighten it.

I especially like the way he drags me away and throws me against the bathroom wall, heatedly kissing me, his hands travelling rapidly all over my body.

I like hand jobs from Dom, because broken hand jobs in deserted bathrooms from broken boys are the best orgasms.

* * *

But my favourite thing of all, when it comes to Dom, is forcing him to be around my friends.

Dom is seven hundred different shades of red, but when it comes to being around my second family, he turns into a bland grey colour.

Sometimes Dom is my mirror, sometimes Dom is my saviour. And then, in times like this, Dom becomes my existential crisis.

Where I lounge, he perches. Where I smirk, he smiles tensely. When I wink, he blushes.

And whilst I talk, his eyes remain fixed on the ground.

James thinks that Dom is uptight and annoying.

Peter thinks that Dom is boring and one-dimensional.

But Remus thinks that Dom is a coiled-up cobra, ready to strike.

Remus never did understand.


	15. Bite Me

**Sixth Year **

* * *

Remus, however, is biased.

One minute I was kissing him until we both started to black out from the heat, and the next, I'd dragged Dom into the dormitory and fucked him senseless into the mattress.

It doesn't make sense to him. I can see the hurt in his eyes with every casual touch.

I could've made it work with Remus. I could've let go of all my destruction, helped him through his bulimia as I started to eat once more, encouraged him to stop cutting.

I planned to. But then I saw Dom, hunched into a corner, leaning against it and glaring resentfully at everyone around him.

His house hates him, thinks that he's too weak to be in Slytherin. And the rest of the houses hate him, well, because he's in Slytherin.

As soon as I saw him, I had to saunter over, a smirk on my face, a hand in my pocket.

I had to whisper suggestively in his ear, take him by the wrist, lead him up to the dorms.

I just couldn't let him go afterwards, either.

Dom hates me with a burning intensity, but he's also undeniably in love with me. And something about that is just so fantastically fucked up, that there's no way I can ever let it go.

I should try harder to integrate Dom with my friends, but honestly I can't be bothered breaking down the walls of house prejudice and promoting diversity. The mutual hatred between my friends and Dom electrifies the air, is the reason James perpetually tries to divert my attention from the dark-eyed boy next to me who generally has his hand shoved down my pants at the dinner table.

I love the dynamic - more often than not I get several orgasms a day from it.

Dom likes to make me cum at the breakfast table with an impassive face, and I like to see how long it takes for my friends to notice.

I like to chide him for it, tell him he's disgusting for doing it, refuse to return the favour and forbid him to take care of himself.

* * *

Dom started to break down from the lack of an orgasm; stopped sleeping, barely ate, spent the most of his time glaring at me with a mix of resentment and heavy-lidded lust.

Every morning, before anyone else woke, I'd let my hands linger near his hipline, until he was shaking with want, and then stroll away, whistling as I climbed into the shower and left him there, panting.

* * *

It took three weeks for me to give him what he wanted, and it was between third and fourth period, against the door in the boy's bathroom where anybody could walk in.

Dom kept his face buried against my shoulder to stifle his groans, and when I finally let him cum, he bit down unimaginably hard on my shoulder blade - drew blood.

This naturally made me unimaginably horny, and I ended up fucking him against that very door, and for once, he was facing me, as he bit more and more wounds up my neck and down my arm.

It came to an explosive end fifteen minutes later, and Dom staggered away to Potions whilst I pressed mounds of sopping wet toilet roll against the profusely bleeding bites.

It took a further ten minutes to make them stop bleeding, and my shirt hid them all except for one, right in the middle of my neck.

I went into Transfig half an hour late, the scarlet mark the least of my worries, but apparently the highest concern on everyone else's.

"Mr. Black, where the hell have you been?" McGonagall barked, distastefully eyeing my rumpled hair and creased clothes before settling on the bite.

"I had a fight with a Slytherin." I muttered, sliding down into my seat.

The entire class laughed at that - they were all well aware of my relationship with Dom.

* * *

After that lesson, my friends dragged me back to that very same bathroom, Remus insisting on treating the wound, James desiring to demand an explanation, Peter just for the fun of it.

Before I could stop him, Remus yanked my collar down, revealing six or seven more bites, all in a fairly worse condition that the one on my neck.

James whistled lowly, barely audible beyond Peter's roar of laughter.

But Remus just stared at them, stony-faced, pulling out his wand.

I caught his hand.

"Leave them." I murmured, and Remus stared at me for a few seconds, before pocketing his wand and wordlessly walking out of the bathroom.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, Dom slid into the seat next to me, ignoring all of my friends and greeting me with a hand down my pants.

My sigh of satisfaction caught the interest of Peter, but I didn't notice, too busy trying to stop my eyes from rolling back into my head.

Peter tossed his fork to the ground and gabbled an excuse, but he didn't anticipate Remus ducking under the table to retrieve it for him.

I nudged Dom, but he'd zoned out, and it was futile - by this point, Remus had already seen everything that was happening under the table.

He emerged with a blank face, slamming the fork down onto the table and leaving the hall, and his untouched food, behind.

* * *

I arrived at Defence Against The Dark Arts ten minutes early, for once in my life, and used to opportunity to push Dom against the wall and kiss him heatedly.

He moaned into the kiss, grinding against my thigh, and I locked my fingers in his hair, pulling as hard as I could, until his moans were mixed with groans of pain.

We broke apart at someone clearing their throat, Dom straightening his collar, me smirking, anticipating a teacher.

However, I saw no one - until I looked down, seeing Remus sat cross-legged on the floor, his textbook on his knee, looking slightly disgusted.

"It's okay, it's just him." Dom murmured into my ear, his breath tickling my neck, but I shook my head, pushing him away, and he shot me a look, walking away.

I ran my hand through my hair and sat down next to Remus, who inched away ever so slightly, his eyes returning to his book but his body tense.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem?" I asked.

"My problem is you and your little boyfriend intent on getting semen on every square inch of the castle!" Remus snapped back, and I drew back.

* * *

James arrived soon after, not missing the glares Remus was shooting me.

I brushed it off as soon as he asked, shrugging nonchalantly, but it continued to niggle at me.

When I met Dom later that day and he suggested heading to the third floor toilets, I agreed and followed him there, but all the way through my chest was burning with white-hot guilt.

* * *

For the first time in two months I sent Dom to sleep in his own bed, sitting on my bed and staring into space.

That is, until I heard the oh-so-familar retching from the bathroom.

I stood up and walked to the door, in a manner very similar to that night in third year, but this time I pushed open the door and leant against the frame, waiting for Remus to finish.

He heard me come in, but didn't bother to acknowledge it, continuing to throw up until all that came up was hot acid, and slammed the chain with his elbow, leaning over the sink and cleaning himself up.

"What?" he snapped at me, but the weak edge to his voice sapped some of the venom away.

"Don't you think you're getting a little old for this?" I asked, not bothering to move from the doorway.

He snorted.

"Oh, this coming from the world's biggest hypocrite! Where's bitey, isn't he normally here to take chunks out of your flesh so that you don't have to?" he said coldly, shoving past me and storming over to his bed.

"Hey, at least I'm getting some. Where you going _moony, _looking for some more food to cram down your throat?" I sneered, and he whirled on me.

"Yes actually! Haven't had much of an appetite since I saw what you and _him _get up to under the dinner table!"

"Well, that makes a change." I mocked, leaning against the wall.

He crossed his arms against his chest, glaring at me coldly.

"Well, you wouldn't know much about having an appetite, would you? Mummy and Daddy starved that right out of you, didn't they?" he laughed, and I tensed up, my fists clenching, hatred boiling through my veins.

"_Bite me_." I snarled, storming to the door and slamming it behind me.


	16. Tarnished

**Sixth Year**

* * *

"Aren't you getting a little old for this?"

Sirius closed his eyes, clenching his fist, arm lay out in front of him.

A chime of delicate metal barely even scratched the surface of the tension enveloping the room.

He was facing the wall, his back to the door and his head bowed.

"Oh, this is coming from the world's biggest hypocrite?" Sirius softly mimicked, and he heard a chuckle.

He shifted, pushing a strand of hair away from his eyes and turning.

Remus was leant against the doorway of the dormitory, his lips curved up into a wary smile.

Sirius blinked stupidly at him, relaxing his contracted arm and clenching it again.

He watched Remus approach, liquid gold eyes and sooty eyelashes filled with warmth.

"James is going spare. You have to eat at least twice a week to sate him, remember?"

Sirius blinked six or seven more times, before realisation passed over his face.

"Oh. Right, yeah." he managed, even though the thought of eating made him want to tear his own face off.

Sirius didn't comment on the ashy circles overpowering Remus' eyes, or the tiny slant of his eyebrows forming a barely-noticable bleakness, and Remus didn't comment on the blood trickling into the bed sheet.

Sirius was about to tumble down a blood pressure waterfall, his heart hammering so far that he was sure Remus could hear it.

Blurry figures infused together and moved rapidly in his peripheral vision, yet there was no one.

His hands were shaking.

"Get into bed. I'll bring up some food and James. He'll believe that you're ill. You look it." Remus murmured, standing up, and his eyes flickered to the red stains on the sheets for a fifth of a second, just long enough to remind Sirius to clean it up.

He swept out of the room, and Sirius buried himself in the quilt, his limbs feeling as though they'd been doused in liquid nitrogen, pressing his mutilated arm against the mattress to stem the blood flow.

Remus returned with a half-full bowl of watery soup and a delicate nibble of brown bread, James in tow.

Remus shot the jittery James an amused glance as he set down the tray, and Sirius did his best not to scowl at it.

James plodded down heavily on the bed, attempting to still the movement of his restless hands, eyeing Sirius.

Sirius bit his lip, and Remus gracefully sat on the floor beside the bed, crossing his legs and glancing at Sirius.

His heart was trembling the entire room. His eyelids were derailed and his tailbone was biting him, despite being layered in several sheets of fabric.

Remus handed the tiny inch of bread to Sirius, and he took a delicate bite, painting a physical image of nausea that could be cured by food when in reality it was exactly the opposite.

He bit and chewed. Bit and chewed. Swallowed and bit. Chewed and swallowed.

He ate until the bread nested heavily in his stomach, until he felt like a failure and the cotton in his head began to disappear.

He could think again, see again, colours and flavours assaulting his senses. He was all too aware of Remus' gentle exhales and the warmth radiating off James.

Everything was always so cold. Meals, drinks, loneliness. James was never cold.

He didn't realise he was staring longingly at James until the boy in question cleared his throat awkwardly, and Sirius tried to murder to urge to crawl pathetically into James' lap and lie there until he remembered what being warm felt like.

"Sirius?"

He missed blood pooling at the edges of his fingertips and in between his toes, and having fingernails that lacked a dead blue tinge.

When he was thin he could wrap a bubble of warmth around himself, control it artificially and eradicate it when he didn't deserve it.

But his BMI dropped out sometimes and he began to melt away, and then he had no semblance of time or space or earth - the cold encompassed his entire being.

The only thing close to heat in him anymore was the burning hot longing to be warm, to be safe and wanted and loved, and the only thing that that was doing was setting his eyes on fire.

He tried to articulate but severe defences barricaded his way until all he could manage was a dull croak.

If Remus and James were amidst the genocide in his head then the groan would have sounded like sirens in a smoking street, but all Remus and James knew was that Sirius had spaced out and broken a solemn silence with an ill-sounding, pitiful whine.

Remus' gold eyes were sympathetic and James' autumn ones concerned and ignorant, and that's when he realised that not everybody had to live in his head, and maybe the exhausting over-analysing could stop, just for this once, just so he could _rest. _

He sat up and his vertebrae splintered into him like shards, a pain he was all too familiar with, and he crawled forwards into James' lap and collapsed into the smouldering warmth.

James swore as Sirius' ice-cold form touched him, his arms instinctively going around Sirius. James was never a person who liked to touch his friends, but today he could transfuse the warmth Sirius so desperately needed and was he hell going to pass that up.

He hauled Sirius, who was already well on his way to unconsciousness, back onto the pillow, keeping his arms around him and his body wrapped around the front of him.

Sirius' core body temperature had bottomed out, and he didn't seem to be warming up as quickly as he should be.

James shot a sad-looking Remus a glance, commanding him to help, trying to convey how helpless he felt.

Remus climbed to his feet, shrugging.

"I'll help…" he started, laying a scarred hand on James' shoulder, but James swore again, jerking backwards.

"You're just as cold as he is!" he exclaimed in a whisper, watching Remus' dirty gold eyes shift to the floor and his hand withdraw.

"Three in a bed?" he joked softly, and James gave him a look.

"Get your quilt and stay here." he ordered, and Remus obliged, tossing it on top of the pile dominating James and Sirius.

"I can feel his bones." James hissed.

"He's naturally thin, and he's been ill for a while. Once he's better he'll put some more weight on." Remus answered immediately, prolonging his eye contact with James until the other broke away, satisfied.

A tiny flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of Remus' mouth as he saw this, and he leapt across the pile of his two friends, until his legs were sprawled horizontally across theirs and his back was against the wall.

* * *

They sat there for three hours, talking in low tones, until the ungodly growl of James' stomach alerted them to the fact that it was lunchtime.

Remus slid across an easy excuse, high from the fumes of his own hunger, and after a muttered conversation, agreed to swap places with James.

James softly snapped the door shut and Remus watched discomfort pass across Sirius' face as the cold once again began to bite his bones, and he climbed over the boy, slipping in next to him and wrapping his arms around him.

Just as he predicted, Sirius jerked awake five minutes later, because although Remus had warmed considerably in the time spent in the dorms, he was no James.

His cologne wasn't as comforting and his figure too untoned, his hair styled the wrong way and his body not as tall.

Their faces were inches apart when Sirius opened his eyes, silver glimmering in the softly lit room.

"Why are you in my bed?" Sirius murmured, lacing his words with suggestion of an innuendo.

"You don't remember? We were shagging all night. You passed out because I was that good." Remus drily retorted.

"I passed out because you were that good at taking it?" Sirius chuckled, and Remus raised an eyebrow.

"If we fucked, Sirius, trust me. You'd be the one taking it." Remus murmured, his eyes the colour of smouldering gold, lingering a little too long on the shape edges of Sirius' collarbones.

Sirius grinned lazily.

"Is that so." he said softly, his hand curving against Remus' side, his touch feather-light.

When Remus' eyes exploded into a thousand different summer sunsets, Sirius took the opportunity to throw himself against Remus.

They tumbled out of the bed, Remus landing heavily on the floor and Sirius on top of him.

Remus' face was inches away, watching Sirius unblinkingly as he shifted half an inch closer, until their lips were just barely brushing.

Sirius hesitated, and Remus took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Sirius' chest, throwing Sirius onto the ground and landing on top of him, legs either side of his hips.

"Yeah, that's so." Remus murmured, his lips pulled up into a lopsided smirk, and he pressed his lips against Sirius'.


	17. Lights

**Sixth Year**

* * *

"I'm sorry about your hip."

Dying embers of sunlight drifted across the dormitory, brushing against the piles of white duvets piled up on Sirius' bed.

Remus and Sirius were entwined around each other, Sirius holding a patch of white gauze to the ugly would weeping on his hip.

"Don't worry about it." Sirius murmured, and Remus could practically _hear _the smirk in his voice.

Remus hadn't left this nest in nearly a week. His, Sirius', and James' quilts were huddled around them, and they were underneath, entangled like weeds.

He'd missed the watery sun bursting through ageing clouds, the soft scent of blooming flowers and the lake glistening under the stern sun. Ever since half term began, he'd tossed aside his bag and stayed in the bed, intoxicated by the musty smell Sirius carried around with him, the bitter bite of smoke swirled in with soft soil and the stench of wet dog.

Remus had no idea what had happened, because one moment Sirius was a victim limping along in life with a smile that never reached his eyes and a pathetic posture, and the next, he was an angular, lean boy with a paralysing smile and teasing gaze.

His tongue was finding new dips and curves to outline, his hands touching every inch of skin they could reach, his cock perpetually sore from desire.

Sirius sprawled across the bed like an ink stain, and no matter how hard he tried, every time he saw a peek of collarbone or a tendon, he was on top of Sirius before he knew it, rutting his hips against the other boy's and drawing bloody outlines on his back, drunk from the smell of sweat and desire that was rife in the air.

James hadn't been up here since Remus vacated his own bed in favour of Sirius', and Peter only ever came in when they were asleep, curled around each other, leaving before they roused.

Remus could feel warmth trickling through the gauze on Sirius' hip, guilt swelling up in him like pasta in a water basin as he eyed Sirius anxiously.

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"You could always lick it clean." he suggested mildly, but his mouth was twitched up in a teasing grin and Remus was hypnotised.

He slid down until he was level with the wound, pulling away the gauze and wrapping his mouth around the wound before Sirius had time to process what was happening.

His gasp was a mixture of pain and desire as Remus' tongue swirled around the rough edges of the cut, cleaning away all of the blood, and his hands locked in Remus' hair, pulling just a little too hard.

Remus could feel him harden at the close proximity to Remus' mouth, and he released the wound, pressing the soaked bandage back onto the site of injury and instead turning his attention to other matters.

* * *

The first Monday back was the first time Remus and Sirius showed their faces in the Great Hall since they found each other's lips.

James was in front, loudly relaying a conversation to Peter, and Sirius and Remus were behind, talking in equally loud tones and laughing occasionally.

When Remus' golden eyes soaked through with shock, Sirius turned around and found himself face to face with Dom.

Dom's lips were set into a straight line, his jaw tensed and his hands stuffed in his pocket.

Remus softly excused himself and sloped away, and a sick feeling set into Sirius' stomach as Dom led them away.

* * *

Dom didn't want to talk.

He threw Sirius against the bathroom wall where they'd fucked multiple times, kissing him hungrily.

The sick feeling in his gut increased with every second that passed by, until his nerves were screaming at him.

He pushed Dom away, wiping his mouth.

"Not right now." he muttered, trying to ignore the hurt that passed briefly across Dom's face, and let himself out of the bathroom.

* * *

"What did he want?"

Sirius took his usual seat next to James, Remus opposite him, who was currently working his way through a hearty breakfast.

"To fuck." Sirius muttered lowly, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a dry piece of toast, tearing a small chunk away from it.

Remus paused to glance at his watch.

"That was fast." he joked, returning to his food.

Sirius bit into the chunk of toast, chewing it mechanically and forcing it down his dry throat, taking a long pull of water.

"I stopped it." Sirius said, his eyes fixed to the task of eating.

Remus shot him a confused look from over his plate.

"Why?" he asked, cutting up a sausage and shovelling it into his mouth without hesitation.

At Sirius' pause, he glanced up, realisation passing across his face.

"Wait, because of us? Padfoot, I don't mind who you screw. This," he gestured between the two of them, "doesn't mean anything. You can screw whoever you want."

Sirius let go of his toast, staring at Remus in shock, watching as the boy shrugged casually, dropping his fork and easily excusing himself to the bathroom.

* * *

Sirius broke up with Dom later that day.

They were walking to third period when it just erupted out of his mouth, and it was certainly a scene to behold.

It started as a soft discussion and by the end, Sirius tackled Dom after he began to mutter a nasty Hex, hungry for more of Sirius' pain after the first one sliced across his chest.

A large circle gathered around the pair as they continued to roll around on the floor, Sirius trying to restrain Dom and Dom trying to hex Sirius' nose off. The Slytherins were laughing, the Gryffindors cheering. Peter was staring at the pair with an open mouth, James was smirking, and Remus was leant against the wall with folded arms, interestedly surveying the boys.

Sirius managed to rip Dom's wand out of his hand and toss it across the floor, and Dom chose that moment to punch Sirius in the jaw.

He felt rage well up inside of him, losing control just long enough to break Dom's nose, and he leapt to his feet, leaving the disorientated Dom and his crowd of Slytherin admirers behind.

He stalked into Transfiguration, kicking a chair halfway across the classroom as we went, and dropped into his seat with a groan.

A bruise was already beginning to bloom on his jaw, and his hip was still throbbing from three nights ago.

Remus had slammed him into the bedpost after they began heatedly kissing, and a protruding nail had bitten heavily into Sirius' flesh. it hurt a lot less after Remus cleaned it out, but the throbbing was still persistent.

James sauntered into the classroom a few seconds later, high-fiving Sirius as he went past, laughter still present on his face. Peter was with him, shooting Sirius a worried look before taking his seat.

Remus entered after a few minutes, pocketing his wand and nodding at Sirius, and Sirius noticed a spot of blood on the other boy's sleeve.

Sirius glared at the table.

* * *

The next week consisted of Dom muttering darkly every time he saw Sirius in the corridor, flanked by none other than Severus Snape, and Remus acting completely disinterested in Sirius.

He decided enough was enough on Thursday night, storming into the bathroom that Remus had just walked into.

Remus was leant over the toilet bowl, eyes wide with shock as Sirius walked in.

"Sirius I'm in the middle of…"

"I don't care. Shut up and listen."

Sirius began to pace the bathroom, his eyebrows drawn together.

Remus stood up, flushing the toilet and rinsing his hands before taking a seat on the closed toilet lid.

"Last week you couldn't tear your eyes away from me. This week, it's like I don't even exist. What the hell happened?" Sirius demanded, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking.

Remus bit his lip.

"It's not you." he murmured, eyes fixed to the floor.

"Then what the hell…"

"Sirius, I don't want a relationship!" Remus burst out, his eyes sad and solemn.

The bathroom went deathly silent.

"I-is that all?" Sirius asked hesitantly.

Remus nodded miserably.

"Neither do I!" Sirius exclaimed.

Remus looked up at that, eyes shimmering with hope.

"R-really?"

"Casual is best, especially if we're going to be around each other constantly. For James' sake, as well." Sirius laughed.

Remus turned away, leaning over the sink and beginning to slowly rinse his mouth, gargling with mouthwash.

Sirius frowned.

"Remus?"

"Good, because I've been dying to do this." Remus growled, turning and grabbing Sirius' shirt, smashing their lips together.

They stumbled through the door and onto Sirius' bed, Remus on top of Sirius and Sirius' hands locked in Remus' hair.

"I love you." Sirius gasped against Remus' lips, and he felt Remus smile.


End file.
